


countervalue of loss

by HumptyDumpty



Category: Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Genre: Angst, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 22:23:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/627158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HumptyDumpty/pseuds/HumptyDumpty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Sometimes, when she opens her eyes and finds the ever-white ceiling staring at her, she wishes her heart would indeed just disappear.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	countervalue of loss

**Author's Note:**

> This simply came to me after a marathon of PMMM. I'm still at the eleventh episode though, so I apologize if it's OOC.  
> I don't know what to think of it either.

When she wakes up her heart is beating so fast it feels like it's going to burst out of her chest and run away. Sometimes, when she opens her eyes and finds the ever-white ceiling staring at her, she wishes her heart could indeed just disappear. 

It would be easier if she hadn't got one. It would be easier if nobody had got one. There would be no hope, no happiness, no pain, no despair. If all beings were like Kyubey, who always repeats that he cannot feel anything ever, there would be also no way for him to trick anyone into that neverending caucus race. If the world were to end, nobody would want to save it, no one would care. 

But because Homura knows what it means to care deeply, instead of letting her mind linger on such things she presses her face against the pillow and swallows everything. Burying it down, down in the place her soul used to be. She wonders if this is how Incubator feels when he glomps those Grief Seeds. They're both carrying out their own task, aren't they? Timeline after timeline. Death after death.

Suddenly Madoka is right before her, smiling. Homura can smell her fragrance in the room, see her wavering figure beside the door, stretch out her pale hand as though it could be grasped. But the real Madoka would grasp it; the Madoka in front of her now is merely the shadow of her failure, and won't.

It's triggering. The way Madoka's eyes are blaming her, it's triggering. Their many times together flash in her memory record at once; the pinkette taking her to the nurse's office, the pinkette saving her alongside Mami, the pinkette walking to school, the pinkette dying, the pinkette, the pinkette, the pinkette. 

The pinkette touching her breasts. Homura is aware this is not something she could possibly remember, but it's hard to just forget when Madoka's hand is so warm and good on her skin. When the fingers of her marvellous pretense are making their way down her body, tickling her belly and tenderly stroking her clit. She can almost hear it, Madoka whispering that she has saved her and- oh! everything is fine, she doesn't have to fight anymore, they're going to be together forever. Madoka kissing her to seal the promise.

When Homura finally reaches her climax, that name she's uselessly screamed so many times leaves her lips with a throbbing sob. Again, the sound of her own tears is the only reply.


End file.
